A Novel Entitlement
by Lira is a Girl's Name
Summary: An invitation by Worth to look at old art junk in a basement is not a date. It's an exploitation of knowledge to sell the stuff. It's also a plain old bad idea if Worth finds objects that start giving him ideas. Conworth, abuse of theater props.


AN: This particular piece of crazy was a present for the ygal user who goes by CountFagula. I seriously call her Fagula, and have her inputted to my phone as Fagula. I find this hilarious. Anyway, this was for her birthday. It was spawned because of our tendency to try and one-up each other with crazy messed up statements, and I made one to the effect of Worth doing horrible things with "my royal scepter." I don't actually own such a thing, but the idea was too hilarious to pass up. If you don't like the insertion of objects that aren't dicks and aren't meant for being stuck in human orifices, you might wish to stay away. I'm sorry Conrad, I'm so horrible to you. At least you get a bit of a win. That said, Hanna is Not a Boy's Name still belongs to the marvelous Tessa Stone, and no money is being made nor is any insult meant by yours truly.

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A NOVEL ENTITLEMENT

-by: Lira-

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Worth hadn't wanted to check out that old basement. He told Hanna off for doing dangerous shit, and for all he knew he was now doing dangerous shit himself. But being a self-employed doctor was not always the most lucrative of businesses, and Worth had been informed that some of the crap in that pit might be worth money, if he wanted to hock it at pawn shops or have it checked out so he could properly sell it on the black market. Give it to Lamont or something. He had been informed that there was a good bit of art, paintings and shit, stashed away in the corners.

Worth hadn't wanted to give Conrad his cell phone number, either, not when Conrad seemed to possess twitchy fingers that could knock a message out in an obscenely short time. Messages that were nagging like a parent, but also needy like a small child, ever-present whenever Worth actually bothered to check his inbox. Worth was finally adopting an opinion where he figured that since the highest percentage of messages were not reporting a dying person – frequently Hanna – who Worth would have to patch up, things were acceptable. At the very least, it meant that he had a string of numbers to which he could send a carefully-worded message about a trove of old artwork that poor Worth hadn't the faintest clue how to even start cataloging.

Worth wasn't a fucking moron. If there was any valuable old artwork, who better than an art fag to tell him what the fuck it was?

Conrad had been excited right off the bat, and Worth took that to mean that if there was anything nasty in the basement other than some rats or spiders or other vermin, it might go for Conrad first. He was a vampire, yeah, but that just meant he should be able to take a hit. Worth was the doctor; he'd be so kind as to patch Conrad up when they got the fuck out. The reality was much less exciting. There was hardly any furniture, just loads and loads of boxes, pictures in frames stuck in long thin ones stacked against the walls like CDs in an electronics store. Conrad insisted upon running around with a little notebook pulling things out of their boxes and writing things down. He also had a marker that looked suspiciously like Hanna's, and was making notes on the boxes themselves, presumably to help find them later.

Worth tried to do his part by sifting through some of the boxes, pulling out old knick-knacks and pieces of crap that he was certain couldn't be art. At least not art a respectable pawn shop would pay for, at any rate. Everything was dusty and as much as Worth was comfortable in grungy locales, his lungs were not thanking him for this alternate form of abuse. He'd stick to smoking, thanks. Finally he yanked something out of a corner, bracing the thing against the wall and leaning on it for support for a moment.

It took Worth a minute to actually look down at what he'd found. It proved to not actually be a cane, or at least not a cane any sensible person would use in public. The head was a bulbous sphere, with little knobbly bits that sparkled in the dim light of the basement. The shaft was smooth, and Worth picked it up so that he could see the opposing end was beveled, not flat as a cane would have been. It had a gold sheen to it, and while Worth highly doubted it was any sort of real gold, even plating, it did look quite impressive. The staff part extended through the sphere, forming a rounded cone shape on the top. Worth ran his finger over the cone and gave a chuckle.

"Ey Connie!" Worth called out, turning away from where he was standing and scouting around for the vampire.

Worth watched Conrad's head pop up from amidst the boxes across the room, a puzzled look visible on his face. Worth strolled over before Conrad could ask him to explain himself, starting to twirl the scepter in his right hand so Conrad could see it. Conrad finished sliding a small frame back into an equally small box and crossed his arms over his chest. That was the silent request for explanation.

"Did you want me to inspect that?" Conrad asked, when Worth only brandished the thing like he was admiring it.

"Inspect, Connie?" Worth asked, a suspiciously wide smile on his lips. "Yeh think yer a cop er summin'?"

"I just think I know artistic things better than you do," Conrad said, already putting one hand to the bridge of his nose just above his glasses. "And it looks like a costume prop."

"Admirable costume prop, innit?" Worth asked, keeping his hold on it with one hand and laying it across his opposing arm, like a sword on display.

"You think you're royalty," Conrad said, then throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You think you're royalty and now you have a real royal scepter and everything, that's what this is. I will never hear the end of it."

"Doan' be so melodramatic," Worth said, although he was privately quite amused. "Aye was thinkin' we could use this fer sumthin' else."

Worth moved to sling one arm across Conrad's shoulders, so that the head of the scepter thumped against Conrad's chest. He then dragged it slowly lower, pressing it against the length of Conrad's abdomen until it rested just above Conrad's crotch. Worth wasn't exactly very good at subtle. He wiggled the thing in the vicinity of Conrad's zip on his pants.

"You're crazy!" Conrad exclaimed, trying to shrug out of Worth's one-armed grasp. "You want to put that... Fuck, Worth, that thing's grubby and disgusting. And even if it wasn't, you've completely lost it if you think I'm going to agree to that."

"Yeh frequently tell me Ah'm grubby an' disgustin'," Worth reminded Conrad, as if that would help.

Conrad only leveled him with a flat glare.

"Gimme yer hand sanitizer," Worth continued, like he was being patient.

"That doesn't... I won't..." Conrad spluttered. "I told you. How wide around is that thing, anyway?"

Worth snorted, actually withholding the comment that Conrad was thinking about it, no matter what he might say. Conrad was still the faggiest fag Worth knew, and Worth was sure Conrad masturbated with shit that looked like medieval torture devices compared to one piddly pretend scepter. Which would be plenty clean if he squirted hand sanitizer all over it and rubbed the shit around until the scepter shone wetly. At least clean enough to not give Conrad any diseases.

It occurred to Worth that hand sanitizer had alcohol in it, but he'd just get Conrad to wipe it dry or something. The lube in one of his coat pockets didn't have alcohol in it, at any rate.

"Wanna find out?" Worth asked, when Conrad was still trying to shrink away from him and he could no longer resist.

"No!" Conrad yelped.

Worth transferred the scepter up into the hand on Conrad's shoulder, the other reaching inside Worth's coat for one of his pockets. He fished out a small bottle, the label plain white. Worth held it in front of Conrad's face, and for a minute Conrad only stared at it, gears turning inside his head.

"You brought lube?" Conrad exclaimed, only yelping louder. Then, more reproachfully, "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Nah, jes' found this thing inna corner over there," Worth said. "This is jes' normally in m'coat."

Conrad gave him a suspicious look, but Worth could have sworn that the presence of the lubricating agent was turning this into an actual possibility to the vampire. Or, at the very least, Conrad was thinking that this was the closest to a date he was ever going to get with Worth, and was considering whether or not he should angle for some more palatable sex while he had the chance. Well, Conrad's idea of palatable was now off the menu. Worth's thought was just not going to die until satisfied.

"Gimme th' hand sanitizer, Connie," Worth demanded, sliding the hand holding the lube towards Conrad's pocket.

"Stop that," Conrad said, trying to pull Worth's hand away.

But Worth knew it was there, knew Conrad would not have set food in a place like this without it, and with a little angling he was able to worm the bottle free. With his arms still draped over Conrad, Worth began to clean the implement he'd found. It was in a way bothersome to work around Conrad's body, but enjoyable in that Conrad alternately tried to get free or to grab the scepter or bottles from Worth's hands. It was unlikely the scepter was actually getting clean, but hey, Worth had made a display of trying, and that should at least do something for Conrad's resistance.

"D'yeh wanna bend over?" Worth asked, mouth right by Conrad's ear. "Or make th' mistake uv lettin' me try an' tumble yeh t'this dirty floor?"

Conrad huffed, like he was saying he wouldn't demean himself that way, either of those ways, no matter what way Worth tried to sneak past him. Worth was personally fond of the way where Conrad leaned over against the back of the old armchair in one corner so Worth would have proper access with an implement the length of the scepter.

"We could make yeh comf'terble," Worth suggested, coaxingly. He would get what he wanted. "There's a chair, jes' over there. Looks plenty soft."

Conrad glanced over his shoulder where Worth was indicating, with Worth gently turning him at the same time. The chair was a squishy, squat thing, with a pattern that would probably look abysmal in proper light but just then only looked like something Worth could fuck Conrad against. While Conrad was momentarily distracted Worth started to walk him towards the chair, and without thinking about it Conrad allowed himself to be walked. When they were just a few feet away, Conrad started giving the chair a more thorough looking over.

Before Conrad could object, Worth moved to place Conrad's hands on it's back with a helpful "Here" and an "Ain't that comfy er wot?" He then slid the hand with the bottles down to Conrad's crotch, letting the hand sanitizer drop to the floor but keeping the lube well in hand. Even with that hindrance, he wasted no time about groping Conrad roughly, his own body nestling up more closely against Conrad's. He'd spent enough time thinking about his idea so that he was growing hard in his pants, but he made a little clucking noise by Conrad's ear once he'd felt Conrad's building erection.

"Yeh doan' even have ter ask," Worth said in Conrad's ear, like he was doing Conrad a favor. "Aye know yeh'll love it."

Conrad tensed up, all of the clenched muscles detectable from where Worth was standing. It didn't stop Worth from popping the button on Conrad's pants, undoing Conrad's belt and drawing down the zipper with slow deliberation. Despite the tensing, Conrad did not actually stop Worth. In fact Conrad became if anything tenser, and over the vampire's shoulders Worth could see the hands on the back of the chair tightening, fingers digging into the worn upholstery. Worth didn't mind if Conrad felt like trying to make his blood vessels explode – considering the time since Conrad had last fed, it would be quite the undertaking. He'd accept having to tease anything into Conrad's taut body.

Worth eased Conrad's pants down with only one hand, taking care with the process. Conrad would never ask for it, would never admit that he'd consented or in any way agreed to one of Worth's twisted little ideas. But Worth knew he'd already gotten his way, and that he would get to try what he liked which meant he did not have to hurry. When Conrad's pants were edged low enough, Worth stepped on the fabric to drag it lower, edging Conrad's legs as far apart as he could with one knee in between. He could hear Conrad squawk and try to protest the treatment to his clothing, but he barked out a "Shaddup" over what Conrad was saying.

Conrad jerked slightly, cutting off in the middle of what he was saying as if he'd forgotten where the words were going. He craned his neck around to look back at Worth, who was busy wrapping long fingers around Conrad's freed erection. Just enough to be a taunt, just a few quick pumps before Worth pulled his hand free. He didn't miss the gasp from Conrad, or the irritated look that followed quick on its heels. Worth didn't know what the fuck Conrad thought was happening now, but he had his own damn script to follow.

Worth had to juggle a bit to get the bottle open and get a measure of the lube into his hand, but once he had he slid one greased finger down the crease of Conrad's ass. He remained close enough that the front of his pants could press against the side of one of Conrad's bare legs, but with his body tilted so that he could watch what his hand was doing. Worth ran the pad of his first fingertip over the ring of muscle that was Conrad's entrance, just teasing lightly, a press far more gentle than usual. Usually there was some biting involved and Worth didn't have the care to be gentle. When he thrust the finger in it was more like normal, Worth pressing in until his last knuckle was attempting to join the finger inside Conrad's clenching body. Conrad's flesh was clamping down on him tight, so much of the vampire's tension still present in every muscle he possessed.

"Fuck, Connie," Worth muttered, in something like disapproval. "Yeh wanna calm th' fuck down, er wot?"

"You're going to shove-" Conrad started to exclaim, before cutting himself off. He turned his face away from Worth again with a huff.

Worth found it privately fucking hilarious that Conrad couldn't even say it, just like he couldn't actually tell Worth no and to fuck off. Worth realized that Conrad's gaze was flicking around the room as much as it could from where he was positioned, distracting himself from what Worth was doing. He was still thinking about the fucking paintings, all the fucking old art crap hidden in the basement room. There must have been a thing or two that was really good, if Conrad cared this much about keeping the peace with Worth, even beyond being unable to admit that he did want to fuck Worth and just didn't know how to get them even a single measure closer to the faggy romantic sex he likely coveted.

But Worth didn't care why Conrad did it so much, just as long as he could continue to shove fingers and other things inside of the vampire.

Worth instead pulled his finger back out, to the first knuckle, finding the maneuver difficult because of the way Conrad's passage was gripping onto him. Worth was willing to simply continue until Conrad cried out and begged free or simply forced Worth to stop with violence, or until his body surrendered and accepted the finger probing back inside, twisting tightly as it tried to make a place for itself. Worth rocked the digit into and out of Conrad, a steady, determined pace, tilting his hand so that he could stroke against that place inside each time he pulled back. It wasn't a bad plan, because at least by then Conrad was trembling uncontrollably, just the most miniscule tremors that Worth never would have detected if he wasn't so intimately, obscenely close.

Conrad's body was still clenching, but at that point it was as rhythmic as Worth's continual pressing in and out. Worth could feel himself being grabbed onto and released over and over, as if Conrad's flesh couldn't decide whether or not it wanted to keep the invasion, and would compensate with the clutching grip and let go. Worth responded by working a second finger into place, his hand still ludicrously slick with the lube he'd poured into it. Worth's motions went faster, pulling against the tightness and shoving back in as quick as his wrist could go, the hand with the scepter turning Conrad's face towards him so Worth could leer right into Conrad's line of sight.

"Better," Worth murmured, caressing the other side of Conrad's face with the end of the scepter. Despite his tone, it was a taunt, challenging Conrad to not make this so fucking easy for him.

Conrad's jaw had been slack, but it immediately tightened when he set eyes on Worth. Focus came back into his gaze and he started to scowl, until Worth shoved his fingers in again and reached for that place, causing Conrad's mouth to sag back open and the tiniest little pant of a moan to issue forth from his lips. As soon as it happened there was a brief flash of mortification across Conrad's features and the dire scowl snapped back into place, only more ferocious that time. Worth patted Conrad on the cheek with the scepter again as if it was all a cute little display for his enjoyment. Which, to him, it kind of was.

Worth had spread Conrad's legs as well as he could given the situation, wanting as much access as he could manage. But as he worked he could tell Conrad had eased his feet wider apart millimeter by millimeter, as if Worth wouldn't notice the invitation if it came slowly, instead of all at once as if Worth had electrocuted him and Conrad had jerked his legs apart. His persistence with his probing fingers had born fruit, had shown that maybe once in a while Worth could feign patience in order to work Conrad's muscles into a state where whatever was pressed even gently against their embrace they attempted to pull inside, greedily, encouraging Worth to shove deeper.

Worth instead pulled back, his hand coming free with some resistance. The arm with the scepter finally lowered from around Conrad, putting the length of the shaft where Worth could get a look at it again, and where he could slather the lube right down its length, like squeezing out toothpaste along an especially long brush. Worth's quick fingers worked the gel around its exterior, smoothing it out to an even slick coating that clung lightly to his fingertips when he took his hand away. Instead of giving Conrad some form of further warning, Worth held his arm down low so he could press the very end against Conrad's entrance and then push in.

Conrad gave a little yelp that was almost silent, one quick exhale of breath he didn't need to take. Worth had leaned down so he could watch what he was doing, witness as first one single inch of the shaft disappeared, then another, and then yet another more. Medical textbooks gave him an idea of how much passage was there to be violated, how far he could shove before he would start doing more damage than even he intended. The shaft of the scepter was slick and smooth even with the greasing of lubricant, and went in obscenely easily. It came back out less so, gripped upon by muscles Worth knew so well, could imagine doing the same thing to his dick even though he wasn't even touching himself.

Worth proceeded to shove the thing in and out with some speed, to the sound of quiet hissing from Conrad, almost like he was angry or pained. Worth was certain he knew better, that this was Conrad's continued refusal to give Worth the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Worth was also certain he could make it happen, if he just tried a little harder, coaxed the noises from Conrad's throat with a combination of slight force and sheer persistence. But the slender shaft of the scepter was not going to do it. If Worth was selfish, he'd say his dick would do it and he should take care of the throbbing hard-on he was experiencing by introducing his flesh to Conrad's thoroughly prepared asshole.

But while Worth could be quite selfish, he could also be a stubborn fuck and he'd decided he'd make Conrad scream with the scepter alone. So much for the nicety of the handle, which Worth dragged fully free from Conrad's body at that moment. Worth easily flipped the scepter in his hand despite the slick grip, rubbing the fingers of his free hand over all of the little knobbly bits on the head. It wasn't so broad across, and Worth had already assured himself derisively that Conrad had taken worse before with far more clearly delineated consent. The fucking knobbly bits would probably just feel good or something. Stimulate things.

But that didn't mean he needed to give Conrad time to think about it, and Conrad was already tilting his head around as if to ask what the hold up was.

Worth snorted a little at the thought, at his belief that Conrad had been enjoying the invasion of a cool foreign object enough that he really did feel kind of bereft now that Worth had stopped. His response was to nudge the head of the scepter against Conrad's ass, the cone shaped protrusion sliding into place against Conrad's entrance. The cone was roughly the same shape as the opposing end, and Worth could see Conrad's shoulders relax slightly, probably at the thought that the treatment he'd grown used to already would resume.

Not happening. Worth pressed harder, not a quick shove with something that shape and girth but a steady push against the firm resistance he knew Conrad's body would offer. Conrad yelped louder at the feel of something that was most definitely not the scepter handle again, pressing forward into the armchair like he was trying to get away. Worth didn't stop pushing, a steady pressure that looked to be easing the head of the scepter the first small distance past that clenching ring of muscle.

"Worth!" Conrad yelped out, realizing that he couldn't push straight through the armchair. "Worth goddamnit what are you- Ohgod."

"Do yeh really want me ter answer that?" Worth asked, in far more kindly a tone than he had any right to affect.

"No," Conrad yelped again. "Nono, Worth, goddamn, I told you not, please-"

Worth almost paused for a moment at the thought that Conrad would ask nicely, but the words quickly filtered into Conrad asking him to continue instead, which urged him to press a bit harder, a bit more of the bulb of the scepter forcing its way inside. Conrad's quick pleading was devolving into half-formed words, phrases that made no sense to Worth's ears. Ah, well, it wasn't like it was the content that mattered. Worth only cared about the fact that the words sounded desperate, revealed a type of need that he in particular might be the one to satisfy.

Worth was of the belief that Conrad didn't like this being so, did not enjoy that a filthy doctor could undo him.

And then, all at once, the bulb popped inside, like Conrad's body had finally surrendered and just grabbed it. Conrad's peevish but needy muttering hiccuped then, a quick gasp like he'd swallowed something the wrong way. The line of Conrad's back tensed again, fingers convulsing even more on the back of the chair. But he didn't complain then, didn't again tell Worth that this needed to stop and what the fuck were they doing anyway? So Worth pulled back with the handle, those muscles stretching wider once again as the sphere tried to retreat.

Worth twisted his hand so that the nodules on the sphere of the scepter would rotate inside, just as Conrad pressed downward to stop the retreat of the tool. Worth stopped pulling then, simply watching as Conrad's body lowered and then pitched forward, once, twice, three times, at which point Worth accepted that Conrad seemed to be fucking himself with the damn thing and Worth wasn't even doing anything any more.

"Yeh sure this wasn't yer idea in th' fuckin' firs' place?" Worth muttered, voice pitched low and roughed around the edges. "Or are yeh jus' getting' off 'cause it's a piece uv art shoved in yer ass?"

Yet again Conrad craned his neck around, and yet again he wore that peeved expression that Worth had long since become familiar with. "You know it was your own damn idea, Worth," Conrad complained. "I just figured I'd speed things up to the point where the novelty of this wears off and you realize you want to get your cock actually involved."

Worth hadn't realized he'd become quite that predictable.

"Who's sayin' tha's even gunna happen?" Worth asked, slinging into belligerence.

"I'm saying," Conrad replied hotly.

Worth knew, in all honesty, that it was only making him angry because Conrad was right. It wasn't like he'd walk away with his dick so hard it might have pushed through his pants, even if he could make Conrad come just from driving him into the chair with a scepter. The smart thing to do would have been to continue, to wriggle the damn thing until it went as Worth planned and Conrad called out like Worth knew he could. But before he knew it the scepter popped free, faster than could have been kind, because Worth had jerked his hand downward in one reflexive move.

The thing was still lewdly shiny with the fluid slicked over it, but Worth only looked at it for a moment before dumping it in the direction of the nearest box. His hands were already at his fly, it taking barely more than a moment to unzip and yank his dick out and it wasn't like Worth really minded if he hurt himself the slightest bit in the process. But he didn't and he was already hard, and even still half bent over the chair, even with his head only turned far enough to judge Worth's face, even then Conrad seemed to know exactly what Worth was doing.

And Conrad had a sort of little smile about his lips, like he'd actually known from the start that this was where they'd end up.

"If yeh tell me anythin' knowin', Ah'll shove a painting up yer ass," Worth muttered, like he was angry, even though at that point he was really just horny and hard.

Conrad didn't, and Worth did think quickly whether this somehow now counted as fucking romantic sex in the eyes of messed up vampy art fags, but even then that could not be the case. Conrad shifted against the chair and Worth took that opportunity to nudge back close against him, close where Conrad could leech his body heat and give Worth a full-body shiver even through their clothing. It was almost like pain, the chill of Conrad's flesh, and that was why Worth did in fact like being near, being able to place a hand on Conrad's hip and tug them together as he pressed in. It shouldn't have been so good after everything Worth had been doing but it still was, somehow it still was, always was.

There was a reason Worth continued to entertain Conrad, continued to mock the things that made the vampire happy, yes, but also continued to goad Conrad into biting him and fucking him and getting hot spitting mad at him. Worth might say it was because he had not realized dead bodies would make such good sexual partners.

But, more honestly, it was the fact that even without Conrad deliberately trying to make him hurt, and even after going through a bunch of old crap in a basement, it was still surprisingly good sex. And perhaps that was because Conrad really was king of the fucking fags and perhaps he did know what he was doing regarding a thing or two other than art. He did know how to arch back, like a cat, so that Worth buried himself deeper and Conrad didn't even seem to know that it was just exactly right, fuck.

From that start Worth moved fast, insisting on setting a quick, somewhat brutal pace with his thrusts, as if he was trying to get back to the rhythm their sex usually had. And maybe for a minute he wanted to hurt Conrad, but he had to know from experience that using his dick simply was not the way to go about that. After all, he didn't just call Conrad a fag because he wore faggy clothing and liked pretentious shit. He also called Conrad a fag because he could jar quick, needy moans from Conrad's lips with only the steady thrusting in and in and in, and going harder only meant Conrad tensed and yelped and likely only fucking enjoyed it more.

"Yer such a fuckin' fag," Worth muttered, because he always seemed to say it, just once.

And Worth had noticed that, at the start, Conrad would tense and flinch whenever he said it, the kneejerk reaction to get angry and fight against the accusation kicking in. But Worth also noticed that sometimes, lately, Conrad didn't, like he figured Worth didn't actually mean it and he didn't have to bother. This time, Conrad snorted, and it might have been that he thought it was funny except it was followed up by a pant and a moan and Worth would accept that Conrad was just hornier than normal.

The entire process had been a cocktease, and Worth had orchestrated the fucking procedure himself and was therefore responsible for the fact that his endurance was in tatters. The only thing important beyond orgasm was that Conrad was still quiet, moaning and moving with the motions of Worth's hips but somehow only making Worth snarlier and not giving him that satisfaction.

"Fuck, Connie," he muttered, brain churning.

But the answer was simple, in the end. All it took was Worth slipping his hand between the armchair and Conrad, Worth wrapping his fingers around Conrad's dick in a familiar grip. Worth didn't even have to move his hand, just the touch and Conrad yelped, loud, the sound melting into the scream that he'd wanted when Worth followed up the contact with a particularly sharp thrust in. He hardly had to jerk Conrad off at all, because a few practiced motions of his hand was all it took for Conrad to come hard against the back of the armchair, shuddering where his back was still pressed snugly against Worth's body.

"Knew yeh still had it in yeh," Worth grunted, still moving, not stopping just because Conrad had attained his release.

It wasn't much longer, of course, and Conrad didn't even seem to realize that he was rocking back against Worth as Worth continued to thrust. Worth absently wiped his hand clean on the side of the chair, the canting of his hips still perfectly steady but actually slower, like he was trying to drag things out just the littlest bit more. When he came he gripped Conrad's hip where he was still holding on, grunted low, the sound jerking up at the end as if it was a shock.

Worth had the feeling, at the same time as his orgasm, in a way that was almost disconcerting, that without the biting, even shoving a foreign object into Conrad and then doing this was getting too far into faggy fag territory. It meant he jerked out fairly quick, when Conrad was still curled over the chair and not quite expecting it. It meant he shoved his dick back in his pants roughly, zipping up and tucking the lube back into his coat pocket.

But it also meant that he had a few long moments to just slouch there and watch Conrad, who was still twitching lightly and then stretching, as if being bent over an armchair was just the most comfortable place to get fucked. As if, by now, he was used to this and all of a sudden he didn't have to feel awkward about doing these things with Worth of all people and Worth could just do all the awkward feelings for the both of them instead.

So Worth decided not to feel awkward, and pulled out his pack of cigarettes before realizing that he probably shouldn't smoke indoors. Right after that he realized that he didn't give a flying fuck, and quickly lit up before placing the cigarette between his lips. As the smoke started to curl out between them from Worth's smoking, Conrad jerked his head up and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, gaze falling squarely on Worth.

"You can't smoke in here," Conrad snapped, peevishly. "You'll damage the art."

"If th' art 'asn't gotten water damage by now, there ain't much else Aye kin do t' it," Worth asserted, blowing smoke into Conrad's face.

Conrad blew out slightly, and Worth remembered that fucking vampires didn't have to breathe, which made it a lot harder to choke them with smoke while they had their wits about them. Worth waved the hand with the cigarette in irritation, then placed it back between his lips and dragged in hard.

"Yeh still wanna catalogue this shit?" Worth asked, as if it didn't matter to him and as if Conrad wasn't half naked.

"Oh, er, yes," Conrad stumbled, looking around with quick, furtive glances.

That was when Conrad pulled up his pants, almost absently, acting more comfortable than Worth thought he had any right to be. After fixing his belt back in place Conrad smoothed his hands down the front of his pants, allowing one quick glance in the direction of the scepter before turning his gaze to Worth once again.

"Are you actually going to help this time?" Conrad asked.

"Aye was helpin'," Worth insisted, but without much vigor.

Conrad sighed, as if asking Worth to tell him another, and then simply walked off towards some of the cardboard sleeves full of paintings that he hadn't catalogued yet. Still like nothing had happened, which was mystifying to Worth. He wasn't going to fucking admit it, but he was used to sex turning Conrad into a flustered mess, as if he was embarrassed to have dirtied himself with the likes of Worth once again. This time Conrad merely seemed content afterward.

Likely it was the paintings, the call of fine art enough to smooth over any awkwardness Conrad might have experienced. But Worth found that he actually did want to take credit, wanted to think that he'd gotten Connie to scream that time, and Conrad had liked it, too.

Somehow this resulted in Worth actually scribbling shit on cardboard boxes in permanent marker, feeling somewhere between Hanna and Conrad's bitch and not even minding that much, because he was busy watching Conrad have miniature orgasms over half the paintings. It made Conrad seem to be exponentially more of a fag than normal, but Worth would inform him of that fact later. After Conrad had priced all of the valuable art Worth could sell.


End file.
